Dale Brown - Puppet Master

“Louis, if you want to make a confession, Father Dalton will surely hear it.”

“He’ll just give me a couple of Hail Marys and Glory Bes and call it a day,” said Massina. “I had my doubts on my roof. I thought I was going to die.”

“But you didn’t. And so now, what else is it that you’re supposed to do?”

“That’s a point.”

“That’s the important point, isn’t it? We all have our moments. Peter had his moment of despair. Even Christ on the Cross. ‘ My God, my God, why have you forsaken me.’ But He wasn’t forsaken at all. And neither were you.”

“No,” agreed Massina.

“So what are you going to do?”

“A lot,” said Massina.

“Souls in machines?”

“More than that.” He looked around the cafeteria. He’d been so focused on that moment of doubt on the roof, his cursing at God, that he hadn’t looked at it as Sister Rose did. And hers was the proper view: It was a moment of affirmation. He was alive. It had to be God’s will.

So what was he going to do with that?

“I have a question for you, Sister.”

“Yes?”

“What you do — you’re obviously a force for good.”

“You’re very kind.”

“I wonder if there are limits to what we can do.”

“I can’t answer that for you, Louis.” She laughed. “You seem to have no limits.”

Massina remained serious. “You think it’s right to work against evil?”

“Of course. Someone has to. Someone has to fight.”

“Yes, we do.”

Chelsea went to the door of the lab and cleared the lock. The door flew open; Borya and Johnny Givens were standing in the hall.

“Today’s supposed to be a study day for you at school,” said Chelsea.

“I’m in trouble,” said Borya. “Can I come in?”

Inside the lab, Borya played the voice mail her father had left.

“You’re going to have to face the music,” Chelsea told her. “Even if it’s not going to be pleasant.”

“Can you be there? You and Johnny?”

Chelsea looked up at Johnny. He looked bemused.

“I’ll go for moral support,” said Chelsea. “You have to do the talking.”

“Can I do it here?”

“I don’t know.”

“In the lobby. So he sees I’m not lying about the internship. And that I’ve turned over a new leaf.”

“You’ve turned over a new leaf?” asked Chelsea.

“I work here. That’s new.”

“Let me check with Mr. Massina to see if it’s OK.”

Jenkins didn’t recognize the number on his cell phone, but he decided to answer it anyway.

“This is Jenkins.”

“Mr. Jenkins, this is Chelsea Goodman at Smart Metal.”

“Ms. Goodman. How are you?”

“I’m fine. I heard that you are bringing Borya Tolevi’s father back to Boston.”

“I’m giving him a ride, yes.”

“His daughter is at our building. She’d like to meet him here. She’s interning with us.”

“I…” He glanced over at Tolevi, who was staring out the window of the SUV. Tolevi had calmed some from earlier, but he was still clearly upset with his daughter. “Why there?”

“It was part of the deal for restitution.”

“But why meet there?”

“I think she wants to… explain what she did.”

“And I can listen?”

“That’s up to her. I checked with Lou. He said it’s fine. They have to stay in the lobby. No tour.”

“All right.”

Jenkins hung up, then leaned across the front seat and gave the driver the address.

“We’re making a stop before we get to your house,” Jenkins told Tolevi.

“Why?”

“To pick up your daughter.”

Every part of Borya’s body trembled as she stood in the hallway in front of the reception area. She was relieved that her father was on his way home, and safe.

And petrified at his anger, which came through loud and clear in his voice mail.

Her dad had punished her countless times. But this was going to be different.

At least he was home.

The first man through the door was the FBI agent, Mr. Jenkins. She didn’t see her dad.

And then there he was.

Borya forgot her fears and ran to him, throwing herself at his chest. Relieved, crying, joyful to hold him.

Tolevi held his daughter for a long moment, unsure what to say. He was extremely angry — so angry that he could feel his face burning.

And yet, how could he be mad at her?

Oh, he was angry. So angry.

PISSED!!!

But damn.

Baby.

“You and I have to talk,” he told her.

She clung harder.

“Mr. Tolevi, this is our lawyer,” said Chelsea. “He’ll explain the legal arrangements. No charges are to be filed. Full restitution is to be made.”

“I gave all the money back,” sobbed Borya. “I’m working here to pay the rest.”

“Maybe we should go someplace where there is more privacy,” suggested Chelsea. “There’s a space right over there.”

It wasn’t until Jenkins saw the way Borya clung to her father that he finally accepted that her father had nothing to do with the scheme. He thought of his own daughter, and what he would do if she had pulled a stunt like that.

No way would she ever do it. Not even close.

He should spend more time with her.

“So, let me understand this,” Tolevi told Chelsea. “There was a shortfall, and Borya is going to make it up by working here.”

“That’s right,” interrupted the attorney.

“Assuming you agree,” said Chelsea.

“I can pay whatever it is.”

“Wouldn’t it better if she worked it off?” asked Chelsea.

“I agree,” said Jenkins. “She’s showing some responsibility.”

Tolevi shot him a look.

“Just saying.”

“Borya,” Tolevi asked, “do you want to work here?”

“One hundred percent. You should see the cool stuff they have. Robots, computers—”

“We’ll discuss it at home,” he told her. “We’ll discuss it.”

Jenkins didn’t have to have a daughter to know that meant yes.

“I’d say we’re ninety-five percent sure the Russian intelligence service was involved,” Jenkins told Massina in his office after Tolevi and his daughter left. “I’d say one hundred percent, but nothing in life is certain.”

“They want our plans for the robot. And this Tolevi wasn’t involved?”

“No. Although he knows some of the players. The CIA had him under surveillance here. It’s Stratowich and this mafya chieftain, Medved. Medved has ties to what used to be the KGB. Your plans are worth a fortune. They figured you were an easy mark. Low-hanging fruit.”

“Because we don’t work on Sunday?”

“They got in. So they weren’t that wrong,” said Jenkins. “Right now, they’re laying low, worried about what Stratowich is telling us. But they’ll be back. They don’t give up when they want something.”

“I don’t expect them to.” Massina got up from his seat and began pacing around the office. The glass window still hadn’t been repaired. “We’ve had attempts before. All by computer, nothing like this.”

“You’re going to have to start taking precautions. Personal precautions. A bodyguard. Do you carry a gun?”

“Rarely. Not at work, certainly.”

“You might think about it.”

Massina walked to the window and looked out. The memory of the other night was going to remain with him for a long time. “This Tolevi — you’re sure he had nothing to do with the break-in?”